


Sandalwood and Steel

by draculard



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King
Genre: Gunplay, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of Roland's Guns, Is it technically a daddy kink if the guns belonged to his father?, Masturbation, No Lube, Other, Pain Slut Roland Deschain, Painful Masturbation, Roland Deschain Has Issues, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Unusual Dildos, self-punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 02:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20166751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: There's one friend that never leaves him.





	Sandalwood and Steel

There’s one friend that never leaves him  — never storms off when Roland says the wrong thing; never drifts away under the Tower’s shadow; never dies. 

He never bothers to unload them. He traces his thumb over the sign of the Eld engraved on the side; he can smell the fragrance of the sandalwood handles. It never fades. 

He knows it’s loaded by the weight of the gun in his hands. He knows everything about this gun. He could craft it from memory if he wished to; the exact shade of that blue-grey steel, the scrollwork near the muzzle. The trigger’s sensitivity. The length of the barrel.

What he knows best, though, is how it feels inside him.

At night, when Eddie and Susannah are sleeping, Roland leaves their camp and treads silently into the woods, leaving his boots behind. Under the cover of trees  — and far enough away that they won’t hear a thing  — he unbuckles his belt and shucks his pants down to his knees. 

He feels the sting of frost on the wind; gooseflesh rising like a rash over his bare legs; hears crisp leaves stirring on the ground. By the time he unholsters his gun, he’s shaking from anticipation.

He uses no lubrication. He likes it to hurt.

He slips the gun between his legs and rests the cold steel of the barrel against his entrance. 

This is the part that excites him the most  — standing still like this and trembling all over, with his pants around his ankles and the gun pressed up against him, waiting to be pushed inside. Anyone could discover him like this, he knows. He imagines what Eddie or Susannah would say if they caught him, and it makes him shiver. 

Shaking, sweating, Roland pushes the barrel of the gun inside. He feels every inch of it sliding against his walls, cold and hard and dangerous. His finger twitches; he keeps it on the trigger.

He needs to stay in control.

He can’t.

He rocks his hips almost involuntarily, every movement minute and terrified. His cock is so hard it hurts, flush against his stomach. Neglected. He needs both hands for the gun. He feels sharp edges on the steel nicking the inside of him  — abrasive, rough, but not hard enough to leave cuts. 

He pushes the gun inside him up to the muzzle, biting his lip, trying not to moan. He can feel the scrollwork of Arthur’s  _ dinh _ against his skin. 

He imagines the gun going off inside him. His cock twitches. 

He imagines Eddie and Susannah finding him like this, a helpless wreck. Without thinking, he grinds down harder on the barrel of the gun, driving it deeper inside him. His grip on the sandalwood handle is loose now, his back arching. He’s bitten straight through his lip.

That’s good. It’s supposed to hurt. He wants it to hurt.

His finger twitches on the trigger.


End file.
